


Unforgettable

by SPNFangallovesSquirrel



Series: Dean [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, F/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:53:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNFangallovesSquirrel/pseuds/SPNFangallovesSquirrel
Summary: After you take on a hunt on your own, and Dean barely makes it to save you, you let it be known your reasons for the suicide mission.





	Unforgettable

****You could hear a steady heart beat. Maybe it was that guy lying on the floor.  
  
No, it couldn’t have been, that was your heart. It was pounding out of your chest, almost to the point you could hear it. Or the werewolf might.  
  
You flip the silver knife around in your hand, trying to decide if you were actually going to go through with it. Go ahead with the suicide mission.  
  
Hell, no one would miss you. You didn’t have much family left. No mom, no dad, not even a sibling. They were killed by a demon. That’s how you met the Winchester’s. The demon was about to plunge the already used butcher knife into your heart, when brothers came barging in to your home. 

You had met Dean a few days prior. He came in to your auto shop looking for a part to his carburetor and after a few minutes his charm had you reeling for more when he wasn’t around.  
  
After saving your life, and helping you fight a giant panic attack, you finally were able to accept that there were other things in the world. Including Demons. You also had to accept that you were now alone.  
  
Against Dean’s better judgment (or so you thought,) they took you in, letting you stay with them. You cooked, you cleaned, you researched and once you were ready, they’d train you to hunt.  
  
That’s why you were hesitating rushing the werewolf. You could evade a few hits here and there; hell you’d killed a few witches and demons all by yourself. But Dean and Sam were there next to you, just in case. Dean and Sam also didn’t let you take on a werewolf in the time you had started living with them. It was too much for you.  
  
‘Well, here goes nothing,’ you mutter to yourself. You look to the werewolf, crouching over the victim, ready to take his heart, and you can’t let it go on any further.  
  
“Hey!” you yell. Then you do the stupidest thing you can think of. You let out a whistle as if you’re calling out for your lost dog.  
  
The male werewolf shoots his head up, looking to you, and his eyes change. He let’s a growl out from deep within him and springs in to action.  
  
You easily evade his first few blows. You had caught him just enough off guard to give him a small beating to the gut.  
  
That enrages him, and you lose the element of surprise, and your silver knife.  
  
The wolf hisses at the silver and pushes you against the nearest wall. Sheet rock is pulled away, revealing a brick wall. Your back slams against it with a crunching force, and your head smacks it almost just as hard. Your vision goes white for a few seconds, but you pull yourself, readying in a fighting stance. The one Dean had taught you.  
  
‘ _Sorry Dean, I guess you won’t be getting that pie you wanted or the burger._ ’ You thought to yourself.  
  
You distribute your body weight over your feet – it’s a little more difficult to knock you off your feet.  
  
You hold your fists up to your face – it’s easier to block a blow to your face.  
  
You clutch your hands together, remembering not to tuck your thumbs in – that one you remembered learning as a kid. You had a boy harassing you in middle school, so you punched him. And you got a broken thumb.  
  
You breathe in heavily.  
  
“Wow, you’re a lot stronger than I thought.” He chuckles as he walks towards your knife. Even though the silver is painful to him, he picks up the blade. “You are stupid though.”  
  
“I’ve been told that before.” You quip.  
  
“That I can agree on.”  
  
And with that, the werewolf charges you. Your head is swimming, and you’re in pain after only one brush against the wall. He brandishes the knife at you, but you manage to pin his arm, bending it as hard in the opposite direction.  
  
You kick back at his knee, and he groans in pain. You turn, as he’s gaining his composure, and you get cocky. Too cocky in fact, a trait that you got from Dean. ‘ _The fight first, ask questions later_ ’ type of fight.  
  
You’re dumb. You bend over to grab for the knife, the only weapon you have to defend yourself. You feel a knee to the chest, sending you back in to the wall. This time you can’t get up and the wolf makes his way to you, sending a blow to your stomach with his foot.  
  
You cry out in pain, it’s numbing, that you almost want more. You take blow after blow, until the werewolf tires, and goes after your knife.  
  
“Stupid little hunter.” He sneers. “YOU are probably the dumbest hunter in the world.”  
  
You close your eyes at his words.  
  
It was true.  
  
You couldn’t understand why the Winchester brothers kept you around. It wasn’t because of your skills. You were rudimentary at best. You were an okay shot; and five times out of ten you hit your intended target. That just wasn’t good enough in this business.  
  
When it came to research you were okay. You were a college drop out, who barely made it by in high school. You understood technology worse than Cas and that was saying something.  
  
_You were stupid_.  
  
“What the Winchester’s see in you, I have no idea.” The acidity level in his voice could almost melt you.  
  
It was true.  
  
You weren’t sure what they saw in you either.  
  
“Just get it over with. I’m tired of seeing your ugly face.” You cough, feeling your mouth start to fill with blood.  
  
He points the knife in your face, and you close your eyes, waiting for the monster to just end your miserable life.  
  
“You stay away from her you son of a bitch!”  
  
_Dean_.  
  
Of course he had to show up, and then he’d have some convoluted point to prove.  
  
“Well, he came. You know, I don’t know what you see in this little bitch. She’s – ” He can’t finish his sentence, a shot rings out, and the body falls with a thud to the ground.  
  
A part of you is glad Dean came when he did, and your sigh shows it.  
  
“(Y/N/N). Damn it, what were you thinking?” he used your pet name. Right now you really didn’t want to hear it. You wanted that ache – the one that wasn’t from your beating – to go away.  
  
You wipe a tear away, and try to brace yourself and sit up.  
  
“No. You aren’t getting up by yourself.” He puts a hand on your back, and scoops you up in his arms, holding you tight to his body. You whimper in pain, but he doesn’t notice, quickly taking you out of the house.

* * *

By the time you had returned to the bunker, you wouldn’t let Dean carry you anymore. You were tired of being coddled, and he didn’t seem to get it.  
  
“Oh good, you found her. Is everything alri – ” Sam stops mid – sentence, seeing the look on your face, and Dean’s.  
  
“No, it isn’t.” Dean mutters. He turns to you, and folds his arms across his chest. He reminded you of your father right about now. “What the hell were you doing, trying to get yourself killed? You know you’re not ready for a solo hunt yet.”  
  
“Of course Dean. I was being stupid, and trying to off myself. I have about given up.” Sam winces at your words, he’s still in the room, like a little kid in between a fighting mom and dad.  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean asks, his voice is quiet. You can tell your words got to him too. He just doesn’t want to say it out loud.  _You’re damn suicidal_.  
  
“You don’t know?” you mutter getting up. Your tone is a little icy, and you can’t help but feel sorry for your next words. “I must’ve given you a little too much credit for being smart Dean.”  
  
You try and stand, and have trouble, and both Sam and Dean race to your aide. “I’m not fucking fragile!” you yell. You were tired of people thinking you were some China doll in some glass shop. You were stronger than you let on. “I can walk on my own.”  
  
Sam backs off quickly, not wanting to get the backlash of your anger, but Dean is a little less perceiving and he persists.  
  
“(Y/N), let me at least help you to your room.” He replies.  
  
“Winchester, if you as so much touch me right now, I will fucking scream. Just leave me alone.”  
  
Dean sighs, not knowing what to do or what has gotten in to you, but he backs off and watches you limp off towards your room.

* * *

You step in to the bathroom and slowly peel out of your clothes; a large purple and blue bruise is spreading where you were kicked repeatedly in the ribs. You poke at the skin, just to feel some sort of pain, something else other than the internal pain you’re feeling.  
  
You let the hot water run on your tired and aching body, and stand under the faucet until the water runs cold. You can hear the door open. You’re sure Dean is at the door, maybe even sitting on the counter. Waiting, lurking, hoping for some sort of answer.  
  
You were one to keep to yourself. One to listen to Dean’s words, and one to not swear. You had let out the F word.  _Twice_.  
  
To your dismay, Dean wouldn’t let it slide. He  _was_  sitting on the counter waiting for you.  
  
You roll your eyes and wrap the towel around you, hiding as much of your bruised ribcage as you possibly can before turning to him.  
  
“What do you want Dean? Can’t a girl shower in privacy?” you ask.  
  
“No. Not until I’m convinced you’re okay.”  
  
“I don’t want to talk Dean.”  
  
“Well I don’t care. You are going to talk, and it can be now while you’re soaking wet, or once you’re dressed. But we’re talking. Got it?”  
  
Despite being the cold hearted hunter he liked to convince people he was, he was truly a softy.  
  
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”  
  
You brush past him and walk across the hall to your room. You dress quickly. As quickly as your aching body will let you, because you want to get the conversation over. You pull a shirt over your head, barely being able to move your arms. You’re combing a ratted mess of curly hair when Dean knocks on your door.  
  
“Wow. You actually knocked.” You mutter. You grimace as you hit a snag, and Dean tries to come to you. You hold out your hand and stop him. “Get the yelling over with, because I really just want to go to bed.”  
  
“I’m not going to yell, because I feel that wouldn’t help.”  
  
“You’re damn right it won’t. You aren’t my father Dean, you’re my equal.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say that.” He sits down and looks up to you.  
  
“I didn’t say in hunting Dean, I said you were my equal. I’m a human being.”  
  
“Why do you even care if I’m a little overbearing? I do this because I.”  
  
“I want to protect you. I know. I know.” You mutter. If you had heard it once, you heard it a thousand times.  
  
“(Y/N/N), what’s gotten in to you. I’m worried.”  
  
“Clinical depression Dean. That’s what’s gotten in to me.” You reply.  
  
“Wait, you’re depressed?” he asked confused as to why.  
  
“Yeah. It runs in the family, and after my parents died, so did the insurance plan that covered my meds.” You said throwing a pill bottle at him. “They were helping. I guess they were helping me be less reckless and stupid.”  
  
“You can’t listen to what that monster was saying.”  
  
“Why? It’s true. What I did  _was_  stupid.” You replied.  
  
“Why don’t you just take me back? Tell me what’s going on? You used to talk to me.”  
  
You sigh and finally look to him. “Why do you guys keep me around? I’m no good on hunts; I’ve already proven myself in that category. I barely help Sam on research, hell I can barely cook.”  
  
“Is that what this is about? Your place here?”  
  
“Dean, I’ve seen first hand what you do. It’s important. You’re saving the world, time and time again. I sold parts at an auto – store. What good was that?” you twirl a curly tendril of hair around your finger. You keep your eyes on the tips, seeking out any split ends.  
  
“We met each other.”  
  
“Please Dean, I know you barely see me as a friend, let alone anything I want this to be.” You motion between the two of you.  
  
“What? How? Did I not make it obvious?” he asks, sputtering.  
  
“That’s beside the point Dean. You wanted to know. I’m telling you. I was bullied as a kid. I was always so sick with chemo and radiation from the cancer that I never went to school. When I finally did, I had no friends. And the people that did actually talk to me, either kicked me, hit me, or made fun of me for the sudden weight gain. And to make it even better, my family didn’t understand. The only person that understood was my grandma, and she’s no longer here. People telling you you’re ugly and fat and worthless, it takes a lot longer for a woman to forget and unlearn, than a man. So yeah. I wanted to kill my self. I ran out of something that was helping me, and I didn’t see any other way.”  
  
Dean is silent. You want him to say something, so you don’t feel like an idiot, or a frickin’ pariah. “I wish you would’ve told me. That I had known. I wish you would’ve talked to me. I’m always here for you, even if you think it’s stupid.”  
  
“That’s the thing Dean. No matter how much someone says they’re there for someone, my brain doesn’t accept it. I self – depreciate too much.” You reply. You’re leaning against your dresser, but you’re in too much pain so you stiffly walk towards the bed.  
  
“I get that. Well, I don’t really get that. But I love you (Y/N). I am here for you. Why the hell would you think that it would be alright to go and off yourself? Do you not feel like you’re family?” he asks.  
  
“No Dean. Not really.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, and look to him. “I can’t tell you how many times you come home from a hunt, and need your laundry washed, or a hot meal, and you’ve expected it. Or how often you come home to a clean and tidy bunker, yet you both don’t even say a damn thing.”  
  
You don’t mean to, but you get a sad look from Dean, your feelings have been heard and he knows you are hurt. You take a breath, and lie back down; your side is hurting too much.   
  
“I get that I’m living in your home, for free. But it sucks. Think how you would feel if the situation were reversed.” You wipe a tear from your face and close your eyes.  
  
By the time you open them, Dean’s green eyes are gazing at you. “You know how beautiful you are right now. Even when you are all emotional.”  
  
“Oh shut the hell up, you don’t know what you’re talking about Dean.” You try and turn away from him, but you can’t. The pain stops you.  
  
“I do know what I’m talking about, and you are just going to shut that gorgeous mouth of yours, and let me talk.” He says standing.  
  
“Wow, forward, eh?” you mutter.  
  
“Just listen, please.”  
  
You sigh and nod, showing him he has your attention.  
  
“I’m so sorry that we don’t appreciate what you do around here. And I know that we could utilize you more, on hunts. But I have selfish motives. I’m doing this for a reason. I’m keeping you safe for certain reasons.”  
  
You try and speak; and you know what you’d say. Even he’d know what you’d say.  
  
You’d say the same thing you always did. I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself; so on and so forth.  
  
You’re about to tell him your spiel, for the thousandth time when he shakes his head. “Let me get this out while I’ve got enough confidence to.” He clears his throat and smiles, making you feel weak at your knees. “I wanted this to be something,” he motions between the two of you, “since the minute I walked in looking for a part for the impala. Yeah, you may not have a degree in college; I barely made it through high school before getting my GED. And yes, you may not go on as many hunts as you want.”  
  
He cups your cheek in his hand, and forces you to look to him. Right about now, you think you have an idea of where the conversation is going to go. You want him to say it, but you aren’t sure you would believe it.  
  
“There’s a big reason I don’t like you going on hunts. One, you just lost your parents to demons. I say you’ve come a long the last few months, but you’re still grieving. I wish I could’ve had a lot more time to grieve my family, but I was a kid. A hunt isn’t the place to be to grieve the loss of family. Two, I don’t want to see you get hurt. I love you, and if I can protect someone I love, I’ll do it in any way I can.”  
  
“You love Sam, yet you don’t force him to stay home and do your laundry or cleaning or cooking. You let him go on solo hunts – ”  _childish, you know, but you had to say it_  –  “You let him contribute.”  
  
“Yeah, I do, but I don’t see myself settling down with him, or starting a family, or actually leaving the life. I see it with you, and if I can protect you, I will.”  
  
“How could you love someone like me?” you ask. You felt child like, but you really needed him to tell you.  
  
“Well,” he slowly wraps his arms around you, gingerly caressing your body, finding the only spots that weren’t in pain. “I love that you can magically defuse any tension between me and Sam. You can help us forget about what we’re fighting about in minutes, it’s ridiculous. You can take apart an engine and put it back together better than any mechanic. No, any male mechanic I’ve ever met. You have the sharpest memory ever. Even though you never thrived in the academic setting, you can remember things Sam and I can’t, and he went to Law School.”  
  
You giggle slightly at his last comment, and snuggle in tighter to his body, no matter how loud your joints were screaming at you.  
  
“And even though you just went through the ringer with that werewolf, you are the strongest woman I know.  **You are unforgettable**. I could never forget someone like you. Someone that went through that should be in intensive care. You don’t know how much I admire how quickly you bounce back after a fight. And you do make a mean pecan pie.”  
  
You roll your eyes, shaking your head.  
  
“Thank you Dean.” You say quietly.  
  
“For what?” he asks. You can feel him kiss your forehead and you close your eyes happily.  
  
“All those kind words. I’m broken. It’s going to take a lot to fix me. I’m duct tape and safety pins inside. You may need to remind me from time to time.”  
  
He pulls you to his body, all though your limbs and joints are protesting; you situate your body on his, head resting on his heart.  
  
It’s then that you two both enter a silent agreement not to talk any more.  
  
Just to be.  
  
To hold each other.  
  
A silent agreement that would hold strong and true for years and years to come.


End file.
